Sick Bloods

Part 1

His ears perked at the eerie descend of silence. The crickets faded out as the whistle of the wind cut short.

Something was wrong.

Ryland's pulse quickened at every rustle of leaves and groan of the tree shifting. He stretched his neck towards the curtain of leaves that hid them both.

He unwrapped her hands from his waist, the cool air hitting his hot skin as he rose.

"What's wrong?" Delilah's voice came out in a coarse whisper.

His ears perked beyond the glowing willow tree they laid under and towards the northwest side of the mountain. His back snapped upright.

"Ryland!" she called, but he pushed off the ground, his heels already thumping against the grass. He moved the curtain of purple, glowing leaves aside, and sunlight spilled across Delilah's face.

She used her hand to shield her eyes.

"Ryland," she repeated, voice strung on a sudden urgency. She scrambled up, tangling her feet in the sweater laying by her dress. She scooped it up, tugging it over her head as she tripped after him. "What are you doing?!"

She pushed aside the swaying vines, and saw him stand still on the top of their mountain, spreading his gaze throughout the other mountains before them. His senses tingled on the edge.

It was always sunny in the mountains—that was why they fled to The Land of the Lost Children; Ryland's people were much friendlier than the demons. But today, darkness consumed all edges of the land, clouds absorbing its natural, glowing warmth.

"It's nothing! Can you just come back?" Delilah spoke.

She grabbed his wrist, it stiff between her fingers and she quickly placed a hand on his chest. She pinched her fingers between his chin, forcing him to look down at her. "The hunters told me they were going to be in the north. It's probably them."

The defiance in his eyes told her enough. Ryland was the type of creature to follow the gut feeling rather than the outsiders. Delilah once found it to be one of his many attractive traits—now she hated it the most.

"Hunters can't move mountains like that." He looked out again at the dark skies. "What if it's the Legend?"

She clutched tighter on his chin. "I thought you said the Legend was a myth. Beasts like that don't exist anymore."

He opened his mouth to deny her assumptions and say some something stupid like, "Stay here" or "I'll be back."

But the canon going off was enough to capture both their attentions.

He broke out into a sprint down the hill, his white hair whipping back over his head. The wind cut into Delilah's pleas to return, and she quickly ran after him, her button down still open as it flapped behind her.

He removed the golden pocket traveller from his waistband—a privilege tool for any solider of the Lost Children and threw it out, the black warp opening enough for a single person.

He disappeared through, and just as it was closing, Delilah leaped through as well, feeling it snip off a piece of her brown hair as it sucked shut.

Ryland swiftly landed on his feet and kept running as Delilah stumbled her way into their new location. She hardly ever pocket travelled with Ryland. Mud flew from the soles of her feet as she chased him down another hill.

An explosion went off and Ryland stumbled, Delilah reaching out in time to grab his hand. "Ryland!" She yanked him back. "Can you tell me what's going on?!"

He stared at her, refusing to say anything. She knew that look too. She let go and he kept running.

Confused shouts were thrown to the sky, different languages and harsh accents tossed into what once was a defenceless village of Lost Children, and was now a colosseum: Above in the heavens, the Almighty Gods sat and cheered on their soft, cloud-made seats, and below, The Lost Children and Delilah's kind, the demons of Darkness, were battling their way to the death.

She gently cupped her throat, the thick, musty layer of humidity clinging to her lungs.

A cold drop hit her brows, and she looked up, a slow rain descending into a harsher fall. Drops hanged onto her lashes before rolling down her cheeks and she quickly wiped the back of her hand across her face.

The Almighty Gods were preparing themselves; ready to use the weather to wash away the blood into the soil. They probably see it as fertilizer, she thought.

"You told me the demons were attacking two moons from today!" Ryland cried out to her.

"That's what the hunters told me!" she replied.

Both of them stopped half way down the hill, watching the horizon line just beyond the village. The dots increased in numbers, then grew into silhouettes tall as trees.

"The demons," whispered Ryland.

Their scaly footsteps shook the mountains as they moved like a pack across the forest.

There was no formation, no line; they were to attack wildly and sporadically. Like true beasts. War clubs the size of human bodies swung at their hips, and tusks that belonged to mammoths and sabretooths gleamed like their hungry, black eyes.

"Abaddon," whispered Delilah.

Oh, how long it is has been since she spoke of that name. The Prince of Darkness; the leader of demons. They were invading the last village of the Lost Children, to destroy their kind at last.

Ryland gazed out to his village, the pained cries from Lost Children soldiers and shrieks of demons brought the rain harder. Flames devoured the outer huts first, licking up running flesh that dared to rush back in for trapped loved ones.

"Ryland, if you take another step towards that battle field—Ryland!"

She sped after him, a hut exploding to her right and she flinched, burnt straw falling in her hair. Smelling the rich scent of blood was like cracking open a new addiction: one she refused to pick up again. Delilah had made sure to bury that old life forever.

She sniffed and harshly wiped her nose, running again. Mud flew up from the bottom of Ryland's sandals, splattering across his bottom side as he rushed towards a hut with a closed door.

"Don't go into that house!" Delilah shouted.

"There's children in there!" he answered back.

"No there isn't!" she exclaimed. "It's a trap!" An old tactic the demons used since the ancestor days.

But he didn't hear a word she said as his white hair disappeared through the door.

Delilah ran after him, guilt ripping her insides. She grabbed the sword laying within a puddle and it suddenly felt weightless in her hand.

She shoved her shoulder up against the door and pushed herself forward. Reflected in the eyes of Ryland was not a huddled group of fearful children, but was the silver blade of a demon.

Delilah shoved Ryland over, the blade just brushing her arm as they crashed into a table.

The wood splintered and snapped under their weight, a grunt leaving Ryland's lips.

Delilah rolled off of him and leaped to her feet, driving a knife into the demon's back. Its shout fuelled the adrenaline and she retracted the saturated weapon to dodge one fist to the right and swooped below another, followed by her leg swerving around, clipping its temple.

She flipped the other end of the sword toward Ryland. "C'mon."

His eyes widened and he quickly climbed to his feet, grabbing the sword. "You told me you didn't believe in violence," he said. "Since when do you fight?"

"Now isn't the time for questions," Delilah answered sternly. He opened his mouth and she turned away, getting out of the hut before his words cut deeper into her past. She never felt so relieved for the rain that hid her tears. He didn't notice the scales appearing up her trembling hands, either.

"We have to leave!" Delilah pleaded.

He turned, eyes full of fury. "I can't leave my soldiers, let alone my people!"

"This town will be destroyed."

"How do you know that?"

She didn't answer.

"Where are you going?!" she sputtered as he ran deeper into the battle.

It was a ruthless collision between the Lost Children and the first line of demons.

Demon tusks yanked, drilling into chests and through hips. Beasts tore apart the wings of the Lost Children, bodies dismembered and smashed, leaving the wooden clubs wet with flesh. Screams fuelled the storm, bolts of electricity igniting the sky.

Necks slitting, muscles torn apart, bones popping out of skin. Thunder pounded against the clouds in encouragement.

She spotted a demon soldier approaching Ryland from his blind side and ran, slashing her sword across his leg. He fell forward, stumbling to one knee.

"Legend? Is that you?" the demon whispered, voice laced with shock and betrayal.

"I'm sorry," she whispered back and swept her blade across his neck.

She heard the whistle of an arrow and ducked, sweeping her leg across to knock a demon off his feet. She drove her sword through its head and twisted it, hearing the tear of pink flesh and tissue before slipping it out.

"Ryland! It's about time you help us!" one of the Lost Children soldiers spoke with a bitter laugh. Ryland responded with a short nod before his friend disappeared around a hut.

"We must protect my town," Ryland told Delilah and swung his sword, catching the head of another. He looked over to her, asking if she was on his side.

Delilah buried the denial in her chest and nodded. "Together forever," she repeated—the two words they promised when he gave her his engagement gift.

A white bolt pierced the grey skies, the thunder crying out in what sounded like pain.